


In the Aftermath

by trollmela



Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-26
Updated: 2011-10-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 12:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trollmela/pseuds/trollmela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrían has left Imladris, causing Elrond to fall into a deep, grief-induced sleep. As he recovers, his sons meet an army of Éothéod, King Thranduil helps run the valley and Glorfindel says yes to everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Set in Third Age, 2510 (after Celebrian sails)

His eyes were unused to the light, and he squinted slowly. How long had he lain there? How much time had passed in the outside world while his own had found such a sudden and tragic end? The outside world seemed so far away and he didn’t think of it any more than cursorily. But something had changed. Something had disturbed his desolate state.

“Arwen…” he croaked. Even he was surprised by his voice, scratchy and rough after not having been used for so long. “What are you doing here?”

He wished his tone had been more forceful, had been able to convey that he didn’t wish for company, not even from his own daughter. He didn’t want her to see him like this. A wreck.

“I’ve been called a few things in my life but certainly never by a woman’s name. Though it __is__ said that my looks are quite stunning.” The speaker paused. “Arwen is outside taking a ride.”

Once Elrond had processed the words, he struggled to sit up. Arwen couldn’t take a ride. She couldn’t be out there on her own. It was dangerous. It didn’t even matter who had told him that she was away.

A strong hand caught him by the shoulder and pressed him back down onto the mattress with shocking ease.

“…not safe…” Elrond managed to mumble.

“She is safe. She will stay in the valley.”

Only now did the half-elf consider who the speaker was. For the first time he looked directly at his visitor.

“Thranduil,” he realized.

“Glad to have you with me,” the Greenwood King replied. “I was beginning to have my doubts that you would return anytime soon.” He gestured towards the windows. “I have opened the curtains and the windows. The smell was dreadful.”

Elrond knew no reply. “What are you doing here?” He asked instead, echoing his earlier question to who he thought had been Arwen.

Thranduil gazed at him seriously. “I arrived about a week ago. When I heard that Celebrían had sailed, I thought I should come and see you. It has been years since last I was here, I know.”

“How long have I slept? Why did no one wake me when you arrived?”

“You were not merely asleep,” Thranduil contradicted him. He filled a cup with water and handed it to the half-elf. As Elrond took a sip, Thranduil continued. “You wouldn’t wake for anyone. A sleep induced by your grief and probably by exhaustion, I have been told. All in all, you slept for nine days.”

Elrond felt weak. Unsurprising after nine days without any food except whatever the healers had been able to make him swallow in his sleep.

“What about my people?”

“They go on as well as they can while worrying for their lord. Erestor is working his arse off. Won’t even let me help.” The king smirked a bit. “I think he’s afraid I’ll try and take over your valley.”

Elrond breathed a laugh.

“Elladan and Elrohir? Where are they?”

“Your sons are hunting every orc they can find in Middle-earth. They’ve been gone since Lady Celebrían took the ship”

“Glorfindel should have made them stay here.”

The King snorted inelegantly. “As if he could have forced them to stay. They’re your sons. They’re angry. They’ve finally lost their mother after watching her suffer for months. They wouldn’t have listened, even to Glorfindel.” He paused and then changed the subject. “Now that you’re finally awake, let me call for a bath.”

Idly, Elrond wondered whether he would even have the strength to bath himself. Even though he was a healer himself and didn’t mind helping his patients with such mundane tasks as taking a bath, he himself did not relish being forced to accept help.  
Before he knew, Thranduil was back at his side.

“The water will be here soon. Do you want my help or do you want me to call one of your healers?”

If things had gone Elrond’s way, he wouldn’t have needed any help at all. But he didn’t even know if he’d be able to keep himself of falling asleep in the bath.

“Call a healer. There’s no reason for you to have to help me.”

“As you wish. Do you think you can stay awake until the servants and the healer are here? Erestor is waiting for me outside, probably pacing the hall and his patience is nearly at its end.”

Elrond nodded weakly. “Go,” he said and waved the King away.

Thranduil patted his shoulder softly before he left the room.

* * *

How is he?” was immediately the first question.

“Well, he’s awake. Weak and tired, of course.” Thranduil gave the advisor a knowing look. “He doesn’t look like he wants to sail to Valinor at least.”

“Perhaps he-,“ Erestor cut himself off. The stress was getting to him; he needed to be careful to curb his tongue.

“-should,” Thranduil finished anyhow. The King of Mirkwood wasn’t an idiot, after all.

The chief-advisor looked away with a fierce frown on his face. Thranduil took pity on him.

“How about you give him some time to recover,” he suggested. “And then we’ll see.”

“ _ _We__ won’t see anything. Last time I checked, Imladris had not been annexed by Mirkwood,” Erestor replied sourly.

The King merely laughed.

“It is _my_ responsibility to see that the valley remains in order,” the advisor continued. “And that includes a certain group of human envoys, unwilling to leave the valley until they’ve made a deal.”

“Ah, yes, the envoys.” Thranduil turned serious. “Are you sure there is nothing I can do to help you with them?”

The advisor hesitated.

“I intend no treachery with my offer. I make it seriously and I would swear on Eru that I would do nothing but that which you or Lord Elrond would ask me to do, and what is best for the Valley of Imladris.”

Erestor waved his assurances off. “My apologies, King Thranduil. I mean no disrespect to you, and I do not doubt your sincerity.”

“Still, you are loath to accept my offer. But I understand your resistance. We all have our pride.”

The advisor gazed at the floor uncomfortably.

“Pride should not keep someone from doing what is best,” he said. He breathed an almost soundless sigh and looked up. “Very well. I will think on what you might do to help.”

For Thranduil, it was the biggest victory he had achieved since arriving in an Imladris which was lacking it’s Lord.

* * *

Arwen returned not much later and visited her father after he had finished taking his bath and had returned to his bed. She seemed to be in slightly better spirits than before as she dined with Thranduil that night.

“We spoke some,” she told the King.

“About anything in particular?”

The elven maid glanced at him over her plate. “Nothing as far as his intentions are concerned, if that is what you mean. But I’m sure he will stay. Otherwise he would have chosen to go with my mother.”

Thranduil nodded mutely.

“I know what you are thinking,” Arwen continued when her counterpart did not reply. “You are thinking of Imladris’ political future.”

He wasn’t quite successful in hiding his embarrassment in front of her. “My apologies, Arwen. Politics are probably the very last thing you’re thinking of. But I, I am a very rational person.”

“Don’t apologize,” Elrond’s daughter cut him off. “I may not be involved in Imladris’ politics but I am not an ignorant and in fact, I appreciate that you are worried. Imladris needs to be strong and it is only strong with its Lord in good health. Otherwise it is vulnerable.”

“Do you know whether he still wields...” Thranduil lifted his right hand meaningfully.

Arwen was indeed not an ignorant. She returned his gaze with a knowing look. “You need not worry about that, King Thranduil,” she merely said.

“Good. Once again, I need to apologize. But, as you said yourself, I _am_ worried about Imladris’ safety and strength because Imladris is one of only four elven realms left in Middle-earth, and that includes the Havens, which isn’t much of a realm at all. Even one weakened realm,” Thranduil paused to emphasize his words, “affects all elven realms, and all of Middle-earth.”

“Do you-“ Arwen hesitated before starting anew. “Do you think the attack was deliberate? That my mother was targeted because she is the wife of the Lord of Imladris?”

Thranduil looked at her seriously. “I don’t know, Arwen. But if she was targeted, then it was not by her attackers, for orcs and goblins are not capable of such scheming, but rather by someone higher up.”

“And there are only so many creatures still left that command orcs.”

The King nodded. “Indeed.”

“Are you not afraid for your own country as well? Especially with your absence?”

He smiled a little. “I have good advisors. And my son is well-versed in war strategy. I do not believe that there is anything he would do that I wouldn’t.”

“Ah, Legolas. It has been some years since I last saw him,” Arwen sighed.

“He was sorry he couldn’t come with me. But, especially in times like these, we thought it unwise for both of us to leave the Greenwood. Even so, I will have to return soon. Gondor has been having troubles with invaders from the east, and while so far their battles have been contained to the east and south of the Greenwood, such things can spread like diseases.”

“I’ve heard about that war. I wish to visit my grandmother soon but I am afraid that will likely not be possible for some years yet.”

“Who knows, perhaps sooner rather than later. As I heard it, the Steward of Gondor, Cirion, sent for help to the north as early as last year. Perhaps some men will come to their aid.”

“Why is it that The Greenwood decides to keep out of the human affairs so close to them?” Arwen asked.

“I do not believe it wise to get involved. I simply do not have the manpower to intervene myself. Certainly I hope for Middle-earth’s sake that Gondor gains the upper hand. But I have pledged no allegiance to Gondor, so why should I risk my own country for the sake of theirs? Dol Guldur is a much more immediate danger to me and my people than whoever decides to trouble Gondor. Furthermore, humans have encountered us elves with increasing suspicion. Initiating new contacts would be time consuming for us, and I’m not convinced of their usefulness.” He sighed. “Those are politics, I’m afraid.” He smiled gently at his host.

“Returning to your plan to visit your grandmother,” he continued, “I would offer to take you with me when I return, but I think that it would be in both your own and your father’s interests that you stayed here in Imladris, at least for a few more years before visiting your grandmother. Give it five or ten years and I am sure the country will have settled and the passage over the mountains will be safer once more. I promise, on my way back, we will clean out whatever hideouts of orcs we can find.”

Arwen inclined her head. “That would be a relief to us all, thank you.”

* * *

“What filth,” Elrohir said as he threw a severed arm onto the pile, already high with black bodies. He spit onto the ground, both for emphasis and because he was practically frothing with anger.

Elladan didn’t reply. He merely dragged another body onto the pile. Once all the carcasses had been put on the pile, he made a fire and lit the pile. The twins watched with unholy satisfaction as the orcs went up in flames.

This was their routine now. To hunt, kill and burn. And if they didn’t find a new trail, they looked for it until they found even the smallest group of orcs. Each and every one of their race had to pay the price for the torture their mother had undergone.

They had remained in Imladris while the Lady Celebrían was there, and they had been part of her escort to the havens. But afterwards they had not returned to their father, who had remained in the valley while his wife took the road West. Instead, they had made a fateful promise to each other to do their utmost to eradicate evil’s minions from Middle-earth. An endless task. One which could not bring anything but disappointment and death. There were simply too many, for orcs were bred in their dozens while warriors, whether human or elven, were slow to come to age.

And even with the orcish race decimated, there were several human tribes and realms to replace them. Even one of those was one too many. It was a war which had taken three ages and thousands of years and would probably take many more, or perhaps never end at all.

The fire was burning merrily away, not unlike the fireplace in the Hall of Fire in Imladris.

“I cannot find any new tracks around here. We will have to scout out a larger area,” Elrohir reported when he returned to his brother’s side.

“We are not far from Lothlorien. We won’t find any orcs near there; The Galadhrim would already have taken care of them. We need to go further east.”

“Towards Dol Guldur,” Elrohir noted.

Even in his anger, Elladan hesitated. Finally he said: “Only as far as necessary. We are alone; we cannot hope to fell that tower and the evil that dwells in it. Would that we could.”

Elrohir nodded grimly in agreement. “Then let’s go.”

They left the smouldering heap of orc carcasses behind and rode quickly. They rode north and eastwards, but came across no signs indicating the presence of orcs or any other minions of Mordor. Finally they shied Dol Guldur’s proximity and turned their horses north along the western border of Mirkwood, once called the Great Greenwood.

Two days they rode like this. On the third, Elrohir suddenly sat up straighter in his saddle and pointed towards the horizon.

“Look!” He called.

Elladan reined in his horse, Elrohir doing the same and they came to a stop side-by-side. The older brother squinted a bit – Elrohir had always had the better eyesight.

“Two people,” Elladan realized.

“No, three. Look further right.”

“Ah! I see the third. They split up to cover more ground.”

“Scouts,” Elrohir added.

Elladan didn’t bother nodding. The occasions were few when Elladan and Elrohir had need to clarify things between each other.

“Humans?” The older twin asked.

“I will know in a few minutes, but I would say yes. I can see the glint of helmets and spears. Orc armour is too filthy to reflect the light. They have not spotted us yet. We are on an open plain.”

“They will see us sooner rather than later,” Elladan continued. “If we want to avoid them, we have to decide now.”

They exchanged looks.

“If they have need of so many scouts, their group will be large,” Elladan considered.

Elrohir gazed once more at the horizon. “Definitely men.”

Without another word he untied the cloak behind his saddle and threw it over his shoulders. His brother did the same and a short time later, their heads and ears were covered with their cloaks’ hoods.

“They have keen sight,” Elrohir noted. Elladan had to agree. They had been spotted.

* * *

Glorfindel patted the horses’ neck as he watched it tear at the grass. He had given the mare to Arwen to ride, as Lord Elrond’s daughter did not currently have a horse. Her last one had retired not long ago and her brothers had wanted to give her a new one, one from outside the valley, one which would bring new blood to the line of horses they already owned. But then Lady Celebrían had been attacked and the new horse had no longer been important.

“Lord Glorfindel?”

The seneschal turned. Erestor stood a few feet away, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his long, woollen coat to protect them from the cold. The chief-advisor was easily affected by cold weather.

“Chief advisor,” Glorfindel returned with a nod of greeting.

“I would like to have your input.”

“Let’s go inside then,” the blonde elf suggested. Erestor accepted gratefully.

 

Erestor’s office was in the main building. Glorfindel had been inside often, though never particularly long. Meetings were usually held elsewhere and Glorfindel and Erestor had quite different tasks: Glorfindel took care of military matters and commanded Imladris’ army while the chief-advisor was responsible for trade, keeping track of Imladris’ possessions, including the harvest and more pleasant activities such as organizing various feasts. Whenever there was need to work together, Elrond was usually involved as well.

They held a mutual respect for each other. For both, duty was important and they had both seen much before finally finding a place in Imladris. Glorfindel’s story was well-known; he was famous for his bravery in Gondolin and the fact that he was the only elf to ever have been sent back to Middle-earth by the Valar personally. Erestor’s past was less known; but the seneschal knew that Erestor had grown up in the settlement at the Mouths of Sirion, then moved to Lindon and from Lindon to Eregion, from which he barely escaped with his life when the city had been attacked.

He may have been younger than Glorfindel, but he did not lack in confidence, even towards the seneschal, and he had not often asked Glorfindel specifically for advice. But while Elrond had finally woken, he was still sick. He slept much and neither of them had wanted to bother him with ruling the valley.

“I have neither seen nor heard anything of the twins,” the golden warrior said as he settled into a comfortable chair next to the fireplace. Erestor poured him tea and then sat down across from him with his own cup.

“I hope they decide to return soon. Preferably in one piece,” Erestor replied. “That’s actually not why I wanted to talk. I wanted to talk because of the human tradesmen from Tharbad.”

“Ah. I’m surprised you’ve tolerated them for this long.”

“I thought they could mean good business. They need wheat, we have wheat. And you never know when trade partners in wheat can turn into valuable allies in other areas.”

“But?”

“But they become too comfortable here. A few more weeks of this and they will never want to return. They look into things they have no business looking into.”

Glorfindel frowned. “Spies?” He asked. He tried to remember how often and where he’d seen the tradesmen but he hadn’t noticed anything. Then again, he’d been away from Imladris often, gone on patrol or shadowing Arwen during her rides – even when he had to take a horse other than his own, because Elrond’s daughter rode his. Still, he chided himself for not noticing anything

The chief advisor shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. At least not primarily. I do believe that they are here to trade. But they might have been told that if they spot anything of interest to take note of it.”

“I see. You have come to no agreement with them so far?”

“They insist on speaking with Lord Elrond personally.” Erestor gave a wry smile. Glorfindel could see that he was tired and exhausted. Now that he thought about it, he remembered always seeing light in Erestor’s study, whether the golden warrior set out early in the morning or returned late at night.

“What is your idea?” He asked.

Erestor settled back into his chair. “King Thranduil offered help. I thought perhaps that he might deal with them.”

The seneschal’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline. “King Thranduil?” He blinked. “Why him?”

The other elf shrugged. “The title might impress them enough to shut them up. Also I think that King Thranduil is used to dealing with humans like them. The people in Dale and Esgaroth are probably much the same. I know it is not something one would usually do, have deals for Imladris made by the sovereign of another realm. It is not something _I_ would usually do. But... I think we can trust Thranduil in this instance to do what is best for Imladris. Valar, he even _offered_ to help. Why not take up his offer? Because honestly, if I have to deal any longer with these humans, I will wring their necks and we will have a war declaration from Tharbad to deal with.”

Glorfindel laughed a little but he could see how serious the advisor was on this.

“The King won’t do anything without my consent,” Erestor continued. “If he manages to come to an agreement, the treaty will be drawn up by myself.”

“And you are looking for my advice? Alright, I agree. Your arguments are sound and I also trust King Thranduil. He is a good man and I am all for spreading the responsibility until we are all on track again.”

Erestor nodded, clearly relieved. “If the twins were here at least...”

Glorfindel silently agreed and drank his tea.

“Perhaps,” he reconsidered, “I might be able to work with Thranduil on the humans after all. Admittedly, the last time I arranged a trade agreement was over six thousand years ago in Gondolin, when I gave Echtelion a horse in exchange for armour; we sealed it with a handshake. But I think I can at least supervise.”

Erestor seemed relieved and – if Glorfindel looked closely enough – mildly amused.

* * *

Elladan had been mostly correct. The group the human scouts belonged to was large but it was not merely a group, it was an army. They called themselves Éothéod and came from an area marked by the joining of the rivers Langwell and Greylin, which formed the Great River Anduin. This far north, Gondor’s call for aid had been heard and the Éothéod had decided to follow it.

They were tall for men and wore their often blonde or reddish hair long, sometimes in braids they copied on their horses’ manes. Their swords were short, appropriate for warriors on horseback. Horses, it seemed, played a great part in their lives. Their armour and their weapons were decorated with horses and it was evident in every gesture how highly they prized their animals.

Elladan and Elrohir had been taken into the middle by the scouts. Five in all there had been; three accompanied the elves, while two continued their search of the area, both to confirm what the elves had told them and to avoid any bad surprises.

The Éothéod’s camp was full of activity. Most of the men were young, clearly eager to test their strength against that of the Balchoth. All of these men followed Eorl, son of Léod. He was a young man, and not only in the eyes of the elves. He didn’t seem to be even twenty years old. He was tending to a steed, when the elves and their escort reached him, which looked truly exceptional. There was a fire in its eyes and the elves could tell that it was not an ordinary animal. It wore neither bit nor bridle, something not unheard of among the elves but for humans it was an unusual practice.

Eorl wore armour like the other men, and no sign to distinguish him from the rest. But like his horse, he had that fire in his eyes, a thirst for adventure and a determination to succeed. He scrutinized the twins with curious but careful eyes.

“Are you men from the dark wood?” He asked.

“No,” Elladan answered. “We are elves from over the mountains. Rivendell, our home is called.”

“You are far from home then,” Eorl noted.

“We are hunting orcs,” Elrohir explained.

“We haven’t seen any in days and those that we saw, we killed.” There was no small amount of pride in Eorl’s voice. “Now we’re hunting Easterlings. Cirion, the Steward of Gondor, called for help. Did you hear his call?”

“Our mother was gravely injured in an attack by orcs. We are not interested in the affairs of humans.”

“Perhaps you should be. As I said, you won’t find any orcs in this area. It’s dangerous, fighting orcs in a group of two, so I assume you’re good warriors. I’ve heard that elves are good in a fight, nearly invincible, it’s said.”

“They are,” Elladan confirmed.

“Can I convince you to abandon your search for orcs and come with us? Warriors are always welcome among us. Or are you looking for any particular orcs?”

The older twin shook his head. “The ones responsible were the first to die. But we promised to kill all orcs we can find.”

Eorl shook his head. “Even with a long life that is an endless task! If you’ve lost your mother, what about your father? Does he not have need of you at home?”

“We will return to Rivendell, eventually.”

“Eventually, eh?” He shook his head again but refrained from commenting. At least this time. “Well, why don’t you give your horses a rest and sit down with me? I was just about to eat.”

The twins exchanged a look. As one, they jumped off their horses’ back. Two humans reached out to take the reins but Elrohir stopped them.

“Thank you but we take care of our horses ourselves,” he said.

“Let them,” Eorl ordered. It may have been a gesture of trust, to show the elves that he did not plan to take their horses from them, their chance to flee if necessary. But if he had wanted to kill them, the twins’ chances would not have been in their favour anyway: even two elves could not hope to best an entire army.

With an experienced eye, the Lord of the Éothéod watched the elves care for their horses. When they sat down across from him, he seemed to be satisfied with what he had seen. The twins had some waybread left over and shared it with Eorl in exchange for the Éothéod’s meat.

“When I was only sixteen my father was killed. He was a great tamer of horses but in one horse he deceived himself, thinking he could tame it. He raised it since it was a foal and it grew into a strong, proud stallion. No one could tame it. My father managed to mount it but the horse ran away with him and finally threw him off. His head hit a rock and by the time we reached him, he was dead. I swore revenge, even though his murderer had merely been a horse and not orcs like in your mother’s case.”

The twins did not correct Eorl. Their mother was not dead but to them, she might as well be as they would not see her for many years, perhaps ever if they decided to remain in Middle-earth and live and die as humans.

Eorl pointed to his horse. “That over there, that’s my father’s murderer. I named him Felaróf. He understands everything I say. I demanded wergild from him instead of blood and thus he serves me.”

“Orcs do not serve anyone,” Elladan spoke up, slightly irritated at the human drawing parallels between his father’s death and their mother’s. 

The horselord chuckled. “No, they don’t. But sometimes it’s wiser to forgo revenge. You may not like to hear my opinion but there’s nothing you can do for your mother. But you can do something for the living and stay alive.”

“By following you to battle the Easterlings?” Elrohir threw in.

Eorl shrugged. “I’m not forcing you to do anything. All I’m doing is telling you a story.” He finished his meal. Turning to the Éothéod on his left he said: “Tell the men that we’re moving on. Gondor is waiting for us.”

He stood and the twins did the same.

“We need to ride.” The horselord didn’t say anything else, nor did he ask again, but he was clearly waiting for them to decide.

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other silently. Elrohir gave a soft nod.

“We are coming with you,” Elladan announced.

* * *

The humans literally gaped at the tall Sindarin King. And Glorfindel had to admit that there was good reason to gape. The King looked splendid and the Eldar wondered whether Thranduil always conducted business like this: awe his opponents and then strike cunningly. The Sindar wore knee-length, green robes, embroidered with stitching of Mithril thread and grey leggings beneath. Rings flashed on his hand, the likes of which Glorfindel would never have taken anywhere on a journey, and his pale, golden hair was almost gleaming in the light and was adorned with many intricate knots.

“Good morning,” Glorfindel began. “This is King Thranduil. He will treat with you in Lord Elrond’s stead as the Lord is not completely healed yet and will probably need some weeks to rest.”

King Thranduil looked down on the humans with a steely gaze and gave them a short nod. He and Glorfindel had agreed not to name his realm. He wasn’t here to function as Greenwood’s sovereign but to speak for Rivendell. 

“I am Glorfindel and will assist him.”

The Sindar took Elrond’s seat at the head of the table, Glorfindel sat down on his right.

“Please, sit,” the King said. The humans complied instinctively.

If King Thranduil was able to keep the tradesmen off-balance like this, coming to an agreement on the treaty wouldn’t be difficult after all.

“Chief advisor Erestor told me that you were... reluctant to speak with him instead of Lord Elrond. Is there any particular reason why? As far as I understand it, Erestor helps his Lord go over the treaties anyway. Instead, you are willing to speak to me who, as I’m sure you know, am not of Imladris at all.”

The emissaries, four in total, looked down onto the table in embarrassment until the oldest of the group finally cleared his throat. He was probably in his forties and his temples were already starting to turn grey. His clothing was no different to his companion’s, but it seemed that his age at least granted him a position superior to them, and made him the spokesman of the group.

“We were told to treat only with the Lord of this valley.”

“But you’ve been told that he is sick,” the Sindar interrupted him.

“Yes, Sire. But... you see...”

“You did not believe it,” Thranduil completed for him.

Glorfindel frowned in irritation. He had wondered why the humans wouldn’t speak with Erestor. Now he had his answer.

“Why?” He demanded.

One of the men flinched. Thranduil raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer.

“Elves do not get sick,” the spokesman replied sullenly.

The King mocked a repentant sigh. “I’m afraid I have to disappoint you there. Elves do get sick – under the right circumstances.” Abruptly, he turned serious. “Lord Elrond has recently lost his wife and Elves are greatly affected by grief. He only woke a few days ago and needs time to recover.”

Again, the man looked down. “We didn’t know that. The advisor did not tell us.”

“I assume he did not tell you because he thought that it is none of your business. Which, strictly speaking, it isn’t. You have missed one chance to trade but the chief-advisor was kind enough to give you a second chance, and asked me to conduct the talks together with Lord Glorfindel. As I am sure you can imagine, due to Lord Elrond’s bad health, the advisor has much to do and thus he is greatly interested in us coming to an agreement quickly. If you are wise, you will not miss this last chance. Let’s start with introductions. ”

The human nodded. “My name is Amlach,” he said. And pointing to his companions he continued: “These are Falathar, Girion and Mat. Our mayor, Urthel, sent us because Tharbad is in urgent need of wheat.”

“So I have heard,” Thranduil merely commented. “What can you offer Imladris?”

 

That night, King Thranduil, Glorfindel and Erestor met in the chief advisor’s office. Thranduil was resting comfortably on Erestor’s only chaise longue with his legs stretched out as he sipped on a cup of wine. Glorfindel had adapted a similar sprawl as much as it was possible on a chair, with his back laying against one armrest and one of his legs thrown over the other. His cup was already empty and as – as he himself professed – he was too lazy to fetch another and Erestor refused to do it for him, it was sitting under his chair. The chief advisor was the only one sitting properly upright in his chair behind the desk, and was reading through the draft for the treaty Thranduil had set up; in theory, Glorfindel had helped. In fact, he had simply said ‘yes’ to everything. Setting up contracts _really_ wasn’t one of his strengths, unless, he liked to think, they were drawn in blood.

Erestor grumbled to himself in a barely distinguishable voice and the King, seated farthest from the advisor, only managed to catch a few words every now and again.

“...thirty sacks of wheat...”

“That’s a good number!” Thranduil argued needlessly.

Erestor barely resisted throwing him a black look for trying to distract him. He hadn’t even started criticising yet. The fact that he almost forgot his manners was a testament to how used he had become to the presence of the Sindarin King. At times it seemed that the elf was _trying_ to annoy him. Thinking back, he thought that Elrond might have mentioned King Thranduil’s quirky sense of humour. Erestor could even appreciate that, but it was still likely a good thing that the King didn’t visit often.

“I am changing delivery time,” Erestor announced half to himself, half to his audience. “Generally the paths are easier to travel a few weeks later.”

Thranduil only nodded. It was one of the reasons why it was absolutely necessary that Erestor wrote the final contract: he knew his own home better than the Sindar did.

“True,” Glorfindel spoke up.

“And I am including a passage on the size of the sacks. You never know with these humans...” the chief advisor muttered.

“Since Lord Elrond is healing,” the King began, “my return to the Greenwood is only a matter of time.”

Glorfindel looked over at him. “When are you planning to leave?”

Thranduil turned to him. “In two weeks at the latest, I would say.”

“We will have the passages cleaned again this week then,” Erestor said, still bent over the contract.

“Good idea,” the seneschal agreed.

* * *

By the time the Éothéod set over the North Undeep, from the Brown Lands into the Wold, it was high time. The Gondorian army was beset by the Balchoth and an unexpected horde of orcs coming from the Misty Mountains.

“There you have your orcs!” Eorl called to the elven twins. Then he blew his horn for his men to attack.

There had been no chance to plan the battle – they had simply come upon it and Gondor found herself in such need that time was of the essence. But perhaps there was no need to plan. Their prospects were good: none had expected them to come, neither the enemy nor Gondor.

The Gondorians seemed in shock at first, or perhaps they had not seen the Éothéod until the horsemen crashed into the Balchoths’ rear, or had not believed them to be on their side. But when the hooves of the Éothéods’ horses trampled the enemy’s archers, their sharp swords and spears cut and thrust into the men’s necks, the trapped Gondorians realized that they had received help and they cheered loudly as new vigour filled their veins and strengthened their arms.

Elladan and Elrohir had swept into battle at Eorl’s side, but they quickly lost sight of the young horselord. Their gaze was set beyond the Easterlings, on the army of orcs. They shouted to the skies for Eru’s protection and threw themselves at the creatures who had so far escaped their hunt.

The battle lasted almost the whole day, for the Balchoths’ army was large and the orcs numerous. Only when the sun had completed its journey from east to west did the fighting cease. The humans gathered their dead and did what they could for the injured. Elladan and Elrohir had sated their thirst for revenge for the time being and lent their aid to whoever needed it, their hoods covering their heads to hide their race. Only Eorl and his men knew that two elves were among them, and they did not speak of it, too preoccupied by other, more important things, or feeling that there was a reason the twins chose to conceal as they did.

The twins eventually drifted apart, each helping wherever they were needed until night fell and there was nothing left to do. They found each other easily, despite the hundreds of men milling about. It would have been utterly dark as the sky and the stars were hidden by heavy rain clouds were it not for the fires the victors had lit to burn the bodies of their enemies.

“I think it is time to go home,” Elladan remarked.

His brother nodded. “That it is. Let’s take the path over the Mountains these orcs used and clean it if we can. And that shall be enough for a time until we are called again.”

 

Eorl, in the meantime, had been speaking to Cirion, the Steward of Gondor. The man had joined the battle himself while his son Hallas ruled over Gondor, and Eorl could only approve of the older man’s decision. It quickly became evident that they liked each other and would likely become good friends. And the Steward had made a proposal Eorl was considering seriously – a solution to the Éothéod population growing too quickly in their own lands around their capital Framsburg.

He sought out Felaróf, to care for his horse as was his habit. His stallion was not alone: the horseman reached for his sword and would have drawn it had one of the men lifted his head and the clasp of his cloak glinted briefly with light.

“Elf-lords,” he greeted. “Are you leaving us?”

The elven brothers were indeed cleaning weapons and tack and their bedrolls were not laid out to sleep.

“Tomorrow morning, at first light,” Elrohir answered.

“Very early.” Eorl patted Felaróf’s nose, eyes straining as he tried to see whether the elves had been wounded.

“We have aroused enough attention with your men; if the Gondorian Steward sees us, he will want to exchange tales and my brother and I have agreed to return home.”

“So you’ve heard that Steward Cirion is with us? I’m sorry to hear you don’t wish to greet him – I’ve just spoken to him and he seems a good man.” Eorl was a bit disappointed that he would not get the chance to introduce the elven warriors to his new Gondorian friend but at the same time he felt that he had an obligation to the brothers. “But if it’s your wish to remain unnoticed, I’ll respect your decision of course. I saw you fight today. You’re truly the best warriors I could have wished for in a battle like this.”

The twins bowed their heads in thanks.

“I do not doubt Lord Cirion’s honour,” Elladan said. “But this is a day for men. Men have won this battle, and it is men the honour belongs to. Our names have no place in your annals of history.”

The horselord laughed. “Then it’s a good thing we don’t have annals, is it? We appreciate stories and song over the written word. Since I assume that I won’t see you tomorrow, let me express my appreciation for your aid now. Please wait here for a moment.”

He left and quickly disappeared in the dark. Elladan and Elrohir unclasped their bedrolls and prepared them. They would sleep close to their horses and leave as soon as there was enough light for horse and rider to see by.

“Where do you think he is going?” Elrohir asked aloud.

Elladan shrugged. “Perhaps some gift? Swords perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” his brother mused. He’d always been the more curious one; the one who could not wait to see his Yuletide gifts and would search high and low through the whole house to find them before the big day. But despite his best efforts he never did – not even in Glorfindel’s private quarters.

When Eorl returned, he was not alone. He led a horse by the reins, a chestnut Elrohir thought he had seen before.

“This is Windfola,” he said. “My captain rode her but Harding fell. He has no family I could give the horse to and I think Windfola will serve you well, whether to ride or to breed. She received the same training as all of our horses. Will you accept that gift?”

The twins glanced at each other.

“With great pleasure and our sincerest thanks,” Elladan said formally. The mare would be the perfect present for their sister.

* * *

King Thranduil surreptitiously stretched his legs beneath the table. Not so surreptitiously, he bumped into Lord Elrond’s feet.

“Sorry,” the Sindar apologized, sending the Lord a grin.

Elrond smiled back weakly, a bit dazed, whether from the wine – the little that he had consumed – or because he was still feeling weak from his illness.

Thranduil loved feasts. The food, the music, the cheerful elves. But tonight he was missing his own country the most, for the Sindar and Sylvan celebrated differently of the Noldor. Less lofty, he liked to think. And their Lord, while on his way to getting better, was still not as Thranduil remembered him to have been, which, admittedly, had been a long time ago. The King had attended Elrond’s wedding, and he had personally congratulated the half-elf on the birth of his children. Back then, nearly five hundred years ago, Middle-earth had been a bit safer than it was today.

The half-elf had not mentioned it again, but the King knew that he worried and wondered about where his sons were. Thranduil did the same when Legolas stayed away longer than planned and no assurances of his son’s extraordinary skill would calm him. The Sindar hoped that the half-elven twin sons would return home soon.

Tomorrow he would start his journey back to the Great Greenwood himself. It was time. When he would find time and opportunity to visit Rivendell again, he did not know. Probably not for a few decades, if not several centuries.

He looked over to Arwen sitting next to her father. It was amazing how quickly time could pass. The last time he had been here had been her birth, now she was already a mature elleth, whose beauty was famous in all three elven realms. It was unlikely that she would marry anytime soon, but Thranduil could already imagine that Elrond would have high expectations of any man who wished to have her as his wife.

“I have a feeling we will not see you for a while,” Elrond said slowly.

“Funny,” Thranduil replied. “I have the same feeling. And it has nothing to do with you or Rivendell, but everything with Middle-earth.”

The half-elf nodded. “This war with Gondor is fought by humans, the next one - who knows.”

“Says the man with the sight,” Thranduil noted with a wry smile.

“Sight, yes; powers to control the future, no.” Sighing, he added: “As has become painfully evident.”

“There’s nothing you could have done for her, Elrond.”

The elf-lord looked down into his cup of wine without replying.

“If nothing else, remember that and that she loved you and her children. She could not remain here and you do not have the power to imitate Valinor in a tainted world like this. Not even with that... trinket of yours.” Thranduil made a disparaging gesture towards Elrond’s hand.

“And here I thought this world was perfect for the Sindar and the Silvan?”

Thranduil shrugged. “I admit, I cannot imagine leaving Middle-earth for Valinor; or at least, I cannot imagine doing it anytime soon. But I do know that the way the secondborn are spreading, there will eventually not be enough space for all and there will be conflict.”

“A very distant future you are predicting there.”

The King shrugged. “Probably.”

“If the Greenwood needs our help, you have it. At any time,” Elrond promised solemnly.

The other elf gave him a polite smile. “Your offer is appreciated.” He lifted his goblet. “To friendship.”

Elrond felt new vigour running through his veins as he took his own goblet and they drank. Rivendell had suffered a great tragedy, but it still stood. And so would he. Eventually, his sons would return and their family would be whole again, or as whole as it could be until the day they would all sail to Valinor.


End file.
